Touches and Feelings
by IzzBot
Summary: Ryan hides and thinks about Seth. Includes angst, drunkenness, and Darth Vader in a tutu. Somewhat ambiguous slash.


You're scared

Disclaimer: I have no rights to the characters of the OC.

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You're scared.

This is in fact a scary thought in itself, since it takes a hell of a lot to scare the stoic and brave Ryan Atwood. But that does not change the fact that you are scared. Paradox.

You can handle water polo players and crazed men with guns and… you're brother. And yet scrawny teenage boys with dark eyes and tilted grins make your heart want to leap out of your chest. It causes you to have sweaty palms and your mind to go to mush. It rendered the want to hide, instead of act rashly as is your nature.

This is a problem that can not be solved with fists and threats. And so you don't know how to handle it. It leaves you baffled and confused. You don't like the feeling. You like things certain and clear-cut. And this is anything but.

Your muddled mind drifts on its own back to that fateful day two years ago. Your stomach twists into a knot when you remember the goodbye that wasn't goodbye. The hug that made you melt a little, that scared the shit out of you.

And you remember earlier, his face being caressed by soft moonlight and shadows. Curly hair everywhere and drunken murmurs. Light bruises beginning to appear on pale skin. It had been too much for you. It still is. Your heart had been beating too fast, your breathing too ragged. Adrenaline.

Touches come to mind. So many it makes your head spin. It always bothered you how touchy he is. You weren't use to that. You still aren't. He knows that and he continues in spite of it, or maybe because of it. Either way, it's beginning to annoy you. Right now, especially.

He is in your bed. He has no right to be in your bed. He has never been one to respect boundaries, though. Especially when it comes to you. But this is going too far, you think.

Not too long ago you had been in a nice, peaceful sleep when you were suddenly pounced on by a hyperactive Seth. Still now he lies on top of you, trapping you. His eyes are bright and playful. Fuck it, Seth, play time is over.

You struggle to flip him, something that should have been easy. But he pins you down, holding your arms. You struggle to breathe with him so close. You're beginning to think you might be seriously claustrophobic. You glare at him and tell him to get the hell off of you.

Hesitantly he rolls off, a kicked puppy expression affixed on his face. "Dude, you're seriously touch-phobic, you know that?"

Instead of answering you sigh and stand up. You move to the other side of the room and talk to your dresser. "What do you want, Seth?"

The words leave your lips like a groan and you want him to go away. You want to cuddle back up in your bed (without him in it) and seek solace in your dreams. But of course you can't because he is here, in your bed, talking and murmuring to himself and to you and to Captain Oats who he brought along for the ride. When you turn around Seth stops his quiet chatter (which you weren't supposed to hear, you assume) and yells in a loud voice, "What, I can't pay my bestest friend a visit at 5 AM?"

"It's 5 AM?" You ask, anger tinting the question. You look outside and see only a soft pink beginning to grace the horizon. Gritting your teeth, you quietly yell in the way only you can, "You woke me up at 5 AM!"

Seth shudders a little, and you find it laughable that you can scare him. You could never hurt him. The thought grounds you a little bit and you listen to what Seth has to say. Which you regret once he starts in on cannibalistic leprechauns, monster water polo players and Darth Vader in a tutu. Helplessly, you ask, "Uh, what?"

Seth hops off the bed and comes toward you. You back away, a bit afraid at this point. He laughs.

"The dream, Ry. You know, the reason why I woke you up. Haven't you been listening?"

"Hunh?"

He pats you on the head and you run away back to your bed. He follows you, jostling the mattress when he falls next to you. You scoot further away, almost falling off. Staring at the ceiling, he continues, "Okay, so there I was, being chased by Darth Vader in a tutu and then suddenly it was LUKE in a tutu chasing me. But that's not even the weirdest part, because the leprechauns eat him right away. Oh, and then you show up-"

"Not in a tutu, I hope."

He bites his lip and you can tell he's started picturing you in a tutu. You punch him in the arm and he sniggers. "Nah, actually you were dressed up as Superman."

"Ah."

You blush.

He resumes his story, talking of how ripped you were in the dream and how you pummeled those leprechauns to smithereens. You watch his lips moving and feel the blush travel down your body.

You can't do this. He can't be doing this, coming into your room and lying in your bed and talking, talking, talking.

You cut him off mid-sentence. "I need a shower."

He nods, his eyebrows scrunching confusedly. "Okay, Ry. Uh, I guess I'll finish my story later. Ha, just wait till I get to the part where we fly on a unicorn while you shoot arrows at ninjas. Hmm… I think that's when you were dressed up as Legolas."

Ah, fuck, now he's turned you into Orlando Bloom. Great. "Sorry, Seth, I just don't think I can handle your subconscious this morning."

You slam the door in his confused face. You stare at your image in the mirror and sigh.

--

--

He's drunk. He's drunk and loud and laughing – an obnoxious guffaw – in your ear.

He slips through your grasp and falls to the ground. A giggly lump on the floor. He kisses your shoelaces and proclaims his undying love for the color blue. The room spins around you as you try to pull him back up by his t-shirt.

You're a little bit drunk too. But only a little.

He stares up at you with brown puppy dog eyes and your breath hitches. There's something in his eyes, something that screams mischief. He grins slowly and begins to climb up your body, hands sliding and grasping and grabbing. He holds onto your neck and moans into your ear.

"Ryaaaaaaan. RyanRyanRyaaaaan."

He sings nothingness but your heart does a drum solo in response. Fucking hormones. The way his breath tickles your ear, warm on your skin…. It has to stop. And you must be the one to stop it because you're Ryan and he's Seth and this is how it works.

You push him away, palms against his chest.

He falls. Thunk.

He cries up at you, somehow smiling. "Maaaaaaaan, you're so wasted!"

You don't say anything. It's hard enough to reason with Seth when he's sober.

But you can't leave him here, on the ground. With sad, wide eyes.

You are hesitant to touch him again. "Seth, come on man, get up. We need to get home."

The room pulses around you and clichéd pop songs pound in your ears. You don't know why you're here, at this lame party, taking care of your best friend. Who seems to be making out with the carpet…

"Seth!" You shout at him whilst grabbing him by his waist. "Am I gonna have to carry you to the car? Because you're seriously heavy, you know."

He just giggles and giggles until he's gasping for breath. So you do what you have to, you haul him over your shoulder. He screams – and then giggles some more.

You push your way through crowds of drunken idiots, gyrating and half naked idiots. Seth is fucking heavy and sweat drips down your face with the effort. You yelp when you feel a hand on your ass. Your balance is broken and Seth is acquainted with the carpet once again. "Fuck, Seth!"

Your body burns as you look at him lying on the floor. Idiot. With a burst of adrenaline you grab him and get him to the car without incident.

Silence envelops the car as you drive home, knuckles white against the steering wheel. You hope to hell you're not drunk now because then this may end very badly. You count how many drinks you had and are immensely relieved when you don't get past one and a half. Good. Responsible Ryan is still here. And badass Ryan is only a memory.

"I miss badass Ryan. He was fun." Seth comments sadly. You then realize you've been talking under your breath to yourself the entire time. Not good. Seth is rubbing off on you. Your mouth snaps shut and you glare daggers into the windshield.

You watch the yellow lines on the road zoom past while his soft voice fills the car. "I miss you, Ry. With all seriousness, I miss you."

Quiet. Seth is being quiet. For some reason you aren't relieved. You think back to his words. "How can you miss me? I'm right here."

He pouts and blows air onto the window, drawing smiley faces and stick figures into the condensation. "No you're not."

You do not know how to react to this. The softness of his voice makes your chest ache a little bit. You want it to go away, you want to do something. But there is nothing to do. There is nothing to say. He misses you? How do you miss someone you see everyday? You sigh and reluctantly ask him that.

"I dunno." His chin is slumped into his chest and his eyes are shut. He looks like he wants to curl up into a ball and disappear. Again, he says, "I dunno."

"Oh."

You concentrate on the road but there's a whooshing sound in your ears and your hands shake on the wheel. All you can think is that you have to get home. Home. Home. Home. With Seth and the Cohens and the house that isn't yours and a family that you've adopted. Because of him, because of Seth. He is your home… Fuck…

You can't do this, you can't think this. Especially now. College is so close and you know it will soon be goodbye. Goodbye to the poolhouse and bagels for breakfast and being woken up at five in the morning. Goodbye to Captain Oats and comic books and people to wait up for you. Goodbye to him…

Fuck, you miss Seth.

Tires screech as you pull into the driveway too quick. You stare at the sleeping form splayed out on the seat.

You don't wake him. Instead you carry him to his room and lay him in his bed. You tuck the blankets around him and listen to his breaths. You watch him in the darkness.

Before you leave you whisper in his ear, "Night, Seth."

Even though you want to say so much more.

--

A/N: Review please. This will most likely remain a one-shot but you never know.


End file.
